Someone Get Elvis A Blog

As I had said in my review of Elvis Costello's 1999 Massey Hall show, the man has a fan's appreciation of music, which is evident in his cover songs (everyone from Gershwin and Cole Porter, to Kurt Weill and Mingus, to Tom Waits, Leon Payne, George Jones, Dusty Springfield, Brian Wilson and The Beatles, and on and on...) and in the many musical styles he's tackled over the years.

That point is wonderfully reinforced in Elvis' current Tour Journal entries, which I stumbled across while visiting his official Island Records web site. He's obviously had lots of time on the bus to write, because the entries are quite long, but he writes wonderfully, with a keen eye and a sharp wit (yeah, there's a big surprise, eh?), and they're quite a fascinating read. When he's discussing what they're listening to and watching on the bus, you really see the fan come out, and it reads like a blog entry from a musically astute friend. Check out this passage, especially his thoughts on watching "The Last Waltz" (a topic of one of my previous blog entries):

"After crawling passed Chicago, we eventually stopped for dinner in Merriville, Indiana. We were happy to be a local curiosity and amusement with our strange accents in return for the gracious welcome. A little further down the road into Michigan we stopped to get gas for the bus and stumbled into one of those rare truck-stops where all the CDs and cassettes (and even a few DVDs) are weird cut-outs at the kind of prices that make you take a few gambles. I had spent several of the recent journeys catching up with movies that I'd missed over the last few years ("Wonder Boys" and "Traffic" being among the favourites). To this we could now add a strange movie set in the 30s with Johnny Cash as a local sheriff bringing a local bigot and despot (played by Andy Griffith) to justice. I could always imagine Big John in this kind of role. The audio swag included a cassette copy of Neil Young's "Harvest" (very welcome, at $5, as we had just been listening to Old Man on the "Wonder Boys" soundtrack), a great Blind Willie McTell compilation and "Super, Super Blues Band", a wild Chess session in which Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley and Howlin' Wolf try to outdo each other on a series of loose jams.

Music DVD's get played pretty often during our journeys. The new edition of "The Last Waltz" makes very poignant viewing these days. The Attractions and I had what must have been bootleg VHS on our tour bus very soon after the original release and we watched it until we knew every word of the interviews. Too many of the people involved have departed sooner than you would wish. I can barely watch the interview with Richard Manuel, he is almost transparent and the wildness that once seemed very attractive now seems only fragile and tragic. I am reminded of my love of these songs. Levon Helm's singing and drumming on The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down is a wonder but it is Rick Danko who stands out for me. His singing is superb on It Makes No Difference (a song that would surely be a "standard" without that weird rhyme about the "stampeding cattle" in the bridge) and there is an unnerving intensity about his performance of Stagefright and his verse of The Weight, a performance that is also graced by the remarkable Mavis Staples. It is great to see Muddy Waters and Van Morrison in such rare form, so the lasting impression is a joyous one. I wish I could have seen the re-released film in a cinema during the recent theatre run.

Another beautiful release is "Down from the Mountain", D.A. Pennebaker's film of the Ryman Auditorium concert featuring music from the "O Brother Where Art Thou?" soundtrack. This film also has a melancholic edge as it contains the last performances of John Hartford. His laconic introductions and beautiful singing and fiddle playing are more moving as he is clearly in the later stages of grave illness. After his passing, I was asked by the producers, T Bone Burnett and Joel and Ethan Coen, to M.C. the companion Carnegie Hall concert. I had the best seat in the house behind a lectern to the side of the stage, rising only to make a few impromptu remarks and introductions. It was completely overwhelming to be just a few feet away from the supernatural Suzanne Cox as she floated her voice into the auditorium during I Am Weary Let Me Rest with minimal amplification. However, when it came to Dr. Ralph Stanley's terrifying solo rendition of O Death, there was nothing else to do but withdraw to the wings and join the hushed cast of singers. Something of this intimacy is caught in the film with the beautifully concentrated close-ups on Willard and Suzanne Cox being the most affecting. I've also been enjoying Dr. Stanley's new self-titled album release (on DMZ). This is a beautifully recorded collection of traditional songs. I recommend Little Mathie Grove to give you a sense of the mood.

A lot of my other listening and viewing consists of CD and tapes that I've been given along the way. Just last night I received a gift of a Roscoe Holcomb collection that will accompany us on the final miles as we head down to Virginia and Georgia. Sometimes I get little chance to really thank people for their gifts, so I send my regards here. It is difficult to respond to every demo tape that I am given, as I honestly feel that my advice, certainly that of a practical nature, is of little value in this wicked world showbusiness. There is no easy answer. It seems that talent is never enough. Much luck is required to advance these days. I do try and listen to everything that I receive, although the system on the bus doesn't seem to like CD-Rs. My favourite gift was a compilation of blues performances from a noted archivist. It contains one number by Howlin' Wolf (with one of my guitar favourites, Hubert Sumlin in support) that makes you realise that something has been lost in the modern performance of music. Hubert is still playing and recording today. He came to a concert of mine a short time ago and I was delighted to receive a framed photograph of the two of us backstage from Hubert's manager just the other day. It will be hang in my music room when I get home."

The section where he describes the somewhat impromptu video shoot for the single "45", somewhere in rural New England, is also quite entertaining.

And it's also nice to know that with the passing of Ann Landers, Elvis will be there to fill the advice void with the web site's Ask Elvis section. Flippancy aside, I found this response quite remarkable and touching.

Question:
Dear Elvis, I'm 15. This may seem like an awkward question from a fan but here it goes. There's this girl that I love so much that it's endangering my health (both mental and physical), and I'm afraid that if I tell her that she'll take it the wrong way and dissappear from my life forever. My moodscape every day is similar to the one you described in "Almost Blue". I was wondering if you had any suggestions to my crisis. P.S. I didn't know who else to turn to.
asked by Max on Wednesday, June 5

Answer:
Iíd been the last person to offer advice but I think you might be right about not mentioning your health. I'm sure it doesnít do any good to be told that you wonít always feel this bad. Maybe youíll always remember these days because those feeling are real. Perhaps it is good that we do so - in the long run. We hurt 'cos we're alive. I suppose that is the reason to write and sing songs, whether they are joyful or melancholy. My only other thought is that you may regret it if you do not find the courage to express your feelings in an honest and unthreatening fashion.
answered by E.C. on Saturday, June 8 1:09 AM

What an incredible exchange! This teenager who says he doesn't know who else to turn to, so he emails the songwriter whose song captures his "moodscape", and he gets a sincere and thoughtful response. What's so funny 'bout peace, love and understanding... indeed.